Entropy
by tromana
Summary: Entropy. Chaos. A state of decay. Lisbon can only watch as Jane spirals into insanity. Not-so-secret-Secret-Santa gift for Divinia Serit. Complete.
1. Fairy Lights

**A/N:** My new multiparter! As I've finished Better and I couldn't wait to get started on another. I really shouldn't as I have my Secret Santa gift to be writing. But hey, since when do I stop when a plot bunny bites? This is the moment when I fully admit that I'm a complete slave to them.

This is a not-so-secret-Secret-Santa gift for twin (Divinia Serit).We had a bright idea that it'd be a 'clever' thing to do, because obviously neither of us are writing enough right now. I'm sure the prompts she's given me will inspire more than just this though. So… yeah. Keep an eye open.

Thanks to my unofficial beta, Miss Peg, for casting a quick eye over this.

x tromana

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**Title:** Entropy  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Characters: **Jane/Lisbon, Team  
**Disclaimer: **Not mine  
**Summary:** Entropy. Chaos. A state of decay. Lisbon can only watch as Jane spirals into insanity.  
**Notes: **Not-so-secret-Secret-Santa gift for twin (Divinia Serit).

"_Ten perdu, jhamai se recbro." (Time lost can never be regained.) _- Medieval Occitan proverb

**Entropy**

**Part One - Fairy Lights**

Entropy.

Chaos.

A state of decay.

It's the reason why brick walls will inevitably crumble down over a passage of time.

Why your fairy lights come out tangled after a year has passed, even though you swear that you organized the strands neatly a year before, just after Christmas passed.

Patrick Jane reckons that, by now, his fairy lights must be very tangled. He hasn't had a reason to drag them out and make his house festive for years and can't see any reason in the future why he'd need to do so either. It isn't that he doesn't care about Christmas, it is more of a case of not having anyone to celebrate with which put a damper on his spirits. Besides, it is out of season anyway and he has no idea why the hell he is even thinking about Christmas and those little fairy lights anyway.

Oh yes.

Latest victim. Twelve year old girl. Has fairy lights hanging from the ceiling in her bedroom. Typical fashion statement of any young lady her age. They don't believe that such a pretty thing as twinkling lights had such a thing as seasons.

He glanced over at Van Pelt. Yes, she was definitely the kind of girl who would have done that too. Probably still does, just in her kitchen or maybe lounge, around a photo collage of her college friends. She probably smiles wistfully every time she glances at it too. The red-head is hard at work, tutting and sighing while Rigsby and Cho toss a ball lazily around the office.

It's been quiet, without Lisbon. No one else is quite so willing to engage him in arguments or just that gentle banter. Nobody else has the confidence to berate him either - it seems they think that he's a lost cause or it's a waste of energy. He'll just disobey or 'forget' or something like that sooner or later, so what's the point? Sure, he can tease the others and irritate the hell out of them, but none of them are quite as much fun with it. Besides, they're all too 'busy' working hard, making sure they get everything done before she gets back.

In short, it's been a boring fortnight without her.

Until that newest case was dumped on them, that is.

Lisbon's back tomorrow, but they're getting started on it anyway. No point in waiting - there's grieving parents to speak to, shell-shocked friends to carefully withdraw information from. There won't be any secret boyfriend hidden somewhere, the one that Dad doesn't approve of because he'd get in the way of her studies. She wasn't old enough for that. But she won't ever be tidying her bedroom or sneakily staying up late and watching movies again. Never mind being the star (in Mom's eyes, anyway) in that dance recital that was slated for next week.

Bit too late for all that now.

She won't be getting that degree, doing a doctorate, getting married, curing cancer. Or any of those little hopes and dreams that Daddy had for his little girl. All destroyed in the blink of an eye.

And Jane knows how that feels all too well.

It's not a feeling he likes to focus on, but that doesn't stop it from being omnipresent. Always at the back of his mind and unrelenting in its cruel savagery. What do you call a father without a child? Is he still a father? Or did he lose the right to call himself one the day he lost his wife and child? Does the world not think he's suffering enough so wishes to mock him by stripping the one title he felt most honored to receive? He still loves his daughter, terribly so. Not a day goes by when he wishes that she were still there with him. Given the chance, Jane knows he would change places with her in a heartbeat. Let his beautiful, precious little girl flourish and grow while he rots beneath the soil instead.

His daughter would have been twelve by now too, if she'd been given the chance to live. If Red John hadn't mercilessly killed an innocent out of petty revenge. The bouncing blonde who would probably have adored their latest young victim's bedroom, right down to the stream of multicolored fairy lights that had twinkled down upon them as they scoured the room for any clue. Any hint as to why the girl's life had been cut short before she even had the chance to bloom and grow into an inevitably beautiful woman.

The only reason he knows and is therefore thinking about the fairy lights at all is because they visited the parents first, rather than the body. Mainly because they don't know _where_ the body actually is. Lisbon is not going to like that when she gets back in the morning.

Just a foot.

Just a foot with Red John's trademark smiley face daubed on it in the victim's blood.

She's going to like _that_ even less.

**TBC…**


	2. Coincidence

**A/N:** First things first:** Spoilers for 2x08 His Red Right Hand feature in this chapter.**

I have to say, I've been completely overwhelmed by the kindness of your reviews to the first part. Seriously, I'm so glad you guys are loving it as I'm really excited about this too. My Secret Santa multiparter is quite light-hearted, so this really contrasts nicely for me, thank goodness. I need somewhere to write my angst fix. Heh.

Thank you to: Divinia Serit, WildDaisies10, Penelope Louise, runningwild14, yaba, cureless, Rissa545, Frogster, Queen Em, macisgate and Habeous Corpus for reviewing part one.

I hope this part lives up to your expectations. Just a note: there's some foul language in this chapter. The rating is T for a reason (and not just because it's the initial of my name, heh.)

x tromana

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**Part Two - Coincidence**

She's glowering as she walks back into the office at seven a.m. the next day.

Cho had the common sense to call ahead and warn her that Red John appears to be back on the scene but that has done little to lessen Lisbon's mood. If anything, it's probably made it even worse.

If Red John has struck again, she would like to remain close to Jane. Only _if_ it is him, for they've dealt with copycats before, so she cannot be certain until she knows the full picture. Some murderers seem to think emulating the most notorious means that they're more likely to get off the hook, after all. But then again Red John has broken MO before, several times in fact. One of those times famously involved Jane's precious family and more recently, poor, poor Bosco and his unit. Everything feels so much more personal this time around. She curses the timing, wishing she had been back twenty four hours earlier. Mainly because the potential fallout terrifies her and regardless of whether or not this is actually Red John, she wants, needs, to be nearby simply for damage limitation.

She doesn't like the potential for crazy that could have happened in such a short time period. It always happens on this kind of case and terribly fast, too. It's like water trickling through her cupped fingers - impossible to control. After all, water always wins.

In fact, it's making her regret the vacation she has just had with her family. Not that it was much of a break, considering that it actually involved the funeral of an elderly aunt, too. Death may surround her constantly during work but it's always different when it's one of your own. It doesn't matter that she rarely saw the woman or that she died of a heart attack, but it still hurts. It isn't exactly a gaping void that she would notice constantly, but nevertheless, it is still a hole in her life that hadn't been there a month ago.

Even though the old woman, who had done a marvelous job at being there for her during the insanity that was her childhood, had deserved that final respect, somehow Lisbon can't shake that tiniest feeling of dread. Like she shouldn't have been there and should have been _here_ instead. The thought is niggling at the back of her mind as she just goes about her 'normal' morning routine. Well, as normal as a routine can get when Red John has reared his ugly head again, proverbially speaking.

The team, though somber, welcome her back with open arms, just as she expects. Bright eyed, bushy tailed Grace Van Pelt, ever the optimist and as enthusiastic as ever. Wayne Rigsby hanging behind her protectively, pleased as punch to see his boss back. He hopes, knows, that she can bring back some level of sanity to proceedings. Cho, smiling slightly, saying more with his eyes than with unnecessary words. And Jane.

Jane who is in the exact state she expected him to be in - a nervous flurry of activity, desperate for this to be the time that Red John doesn't slip through their, his, fingers.

Jane, not bothering to wear his normal mask because even he knows that on this occasion that they will see right through it anyway.

She loves them all and knows that she would be relieved to be back under different circumstances. Instead of dreading what could potentially unfold.

She knows that the tension is running through the team, like an elastic band pulled to snapping point and she can only hope that it doesn't break any time soon. She needs them all, needs them to be working hard and focused despite the strained working conditions. To be there for her and one another.

They're on the road again within an hour. Though she knows that the team spoke to the grieving parents yesterday, she still needs to meet them. Lisbon feels that it's her duty to comfort them herself and confirm that, as lead agent, she will do her utmost to bring the perpetrator to justice. Besides, Cho has already told her that they had only received minimal information from them anyway and had already agreed to meet them again today. Jane is staring out of the window endlessly, his fingers tapping incessantly against his left knee. Lisbon knows she'd find it distracting if she couldn't at least empathize with him on some level. They have both lost somebody to Red John now, after all.

The mother is shaking in her husband's arms as he grips Lisbon's hand firmly. Quickly, quietly, she, Jane and Van Pelt are welcomed into their comfortable, now silent, home. It's a place that's designed to be filled with the sound of a child's laughter, but a daughter has just been stripped from the bosom of this family. She shudders inwardly as she takes a seat and a glass of sparkling homemade lemonade. It can't be a coincidence that this girl was on only child, too. Red John just doesn't work on the theory of coincidences. She just hopes that Rigsby and Cho can untangle the few clues they have from the foot before things get out of hand.

The conversation starts, quiet and lilting. Lisbon explains just how sorry she is and she means it, though she does realize that people like this probably rarely believe her. After all, she's said it so many times now that it could all seem false and rehearsed. This broken family, now filled with broken hearts and broken dreams, hurts her terribly. She knows loss, but is well aware that losing a parent too soon is completely different to losing your offspring. It's a sentence she wouldn't wish on anybody: she sees the damage caused by the death of children on a daily basis, in Jane.

"You see, we found out she wasn't our biological daughter…"

Lisbon hadn't thought the case could get much worse. But that was something she hadn't quite expected to happen. She watches them with eagle eyes, noting with interest how Jane placed a hand on the woman's shoulder.

"Swapped accidentally at birth. We told her as soon as we found out but she didn't want to know who her biological parents were," the father trails off, watching the two agents and Jane despairingly.

Jane's hand flies away from the mother's shoulder, like an electric jolt has just surged through his body. For some reason, Lisbon had the desperate urge to get him out of the room. There is something about the situation which means she just didn't want him to hear this.

"We know our real daughter died young too…"

That has got to be a coincidence even if Red John is involved. Lisbon decides quickly that she really, really likes coincidences. He probably only picked on this family because he wanted to blatantly taunt Jane. Right?

"…and her Mom…"

Oh no, no, no, no, no. It can still all be coincidental, right?

"I've found the letter, dear."

The husband approaches them, unfolding the pale piece of paper, taking a painfully long time about it. Lisbon closes her eyes, offering a silent prayer. Please be a coincidence. Please, oh please be a coincidence.

"I thought I found your name familiar, Mr. Jane."

Shit.

**TBC…**


	3. Loss

**A/N: **Okay, I'm either spoiling you rotten or I've gone completely mad. I don't know how or why I've been so inspired to write lately - I just wish I always felt like this!!

Anyway, this story is really becoming my baby right now. I love writing it and I'm having so much fun with the experimentation and the plot. I have to say, again, I've been completely overwhelmed by the kindness of your words and your support with it. So, thank you to: Habeous Corpus, Rissa545, WildDaisies10, Cora Clavia, Charlene, Penelope Louise, Tessa27, Divinia Serit, celticgina, yaba, lisbon69, mtm, Frogster, Fallen Angels of Love and HOUSEMDFanForever for reviewing part 2.

Just a quick note to clear up any confusion: this is NOT my Jello Forever Secret Santa gift - I'm not writing for Div in that. Who I am writing for? That's a secret until December the 18th - 20th. We just decided that we'd write for each other for fun separate to that. So no, I'm not breaking any of the rules that I wrote for that by posting way too early.

x tromana

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**Part Three - Loss**

To lose a child once is horrifying.

To lose that same child _twice_ is unthinkable.

Impossible.

Jane feels like somebody has decided that it would be a very good idea to drop a ten ton weight on his shoulders. He already knows the definition of 'carrying the weight of the world on his back' all too well, but this is different to that.

It's worse.

Wordlessly, Lisbon has placed her lemonade back down on the table and after rolling onto her tiptoes, she places her arms gently around his shoulders, for once not caring about her general discomfort of physical displays of affection, never mind that she was doing so in front of the general public. He wraps his arms as tightly as physically possible around her slender waist, holding her flush to his body and refusing to let go. He only realizes that he's hurting her at all when she whispers so in a small, strained squeak of a voice.

Neither of them notice poor Van Pelt, confused, staring wildly from person to person in the room. She's feeling completely out of her depth; like she's been treading water for hours and unless that rescue helicopter comes within the next five minutes, she's going to drown.

Of course, it's nothing like the drowning sensation that Jane is suffering from, for even though he has loosened his grip on Lisbon, he is still clinging to her like she's some kind of life-raft. Like she is the only solid thing left in his life and if she were to pull a disappearing act, he'd surely die. He barely notices as she pulls on his arms, gently guiding him outside and onto the porch, but not without mouthing a quick 'sorry' to Van Pelt.

She knows that she needs to get him out of there.

He doesn't sit down on the steps until he feels Lisbon pulling down on his shoulder. His strength has long since ebbed out of his body, meaning that he is pliable to her every whim. Lisbon doesn't batter an eyelid at this; she can positively hear his heart breaking again. She can be fairly certain the way that his mind is working, especially if it's anything remotely similar to the pathways her trail of thoughts are taking. In fact, even she's struggling to think about the case right now.

It's those years he missed out on.

There's absolutely no way to go back and salvage them - they've been and gone.

And he didn't even know.

Did he?

"Did you…" she trails off and broken blue eyes gaze back at her.

"No," he splutters, shaking his head.

An arm wraps tightly around his waist once more as Van Pelt creeps outside with a glass of water. Lisbon quickly thanks the younger woman but brushes her aside again, with a few rushed apologies. While the case is important, it is Red John after all, Jane is even more so. If he isn't on his feet, she isn't quite sure what she'd do. It hasn't been long and she hasn't dared even whisper it to anybody else and she knows that he's done the same, but still. _They_ are the most important thing in her life right now and she's scared. Scared that it'll be pulled from under her feet like a rug before it's even started, really.

She was crazy for saying yes to going to that football match with him.

And dinner afterwards.

And letting him inside her apartment after that.

And, well, for letting what happened after _that _happen.

She knew that he was still obsessed with Red John. And that whatever Bosco had said to him in his dying breath had only made his fervor even worse.

Dispelling the thoughts, she places a kiss firmly to his cheek and carefully tilts the glass, allowing him to sip the water. His hands are still shaking too much for him to be able to hold it himself and thankfully, he doesn't seem adverse to being treated like, well, a child, really. Jane is still trembling when she takes him to the van and makes sure he is seat belted in before dashing inside and apologizing profusely to the mourning couple and a bewildered Van Pelt.

They're understanding and immediately say the CBI is welcome to come around at any time, for anything.

The stress of the situation is obviously taking its toll on them too.

"Is Jane okay?" Van Pelt whispers just before they get in the car themselves.

"I don't know," Lisbon answers honestly. "I hope he will be."

The answer is enough for her and she climbs into the back seat without another word. The drive back is understandably unpleasant; nobody wants to break the silence and even if they did, they wouldn't know quite what to say anyway. By the time they reach CBI headquarters, it's barely three p.m., but Lisbon already feels ready to go home and fall into bed. She sends Van Pelt upstairs immediately, telling the younger woman that she should help the others with their tasks.

She'll see them tomorrow, she says. She and Jane have somewhere else they need to go.

That's if he'll trust her enough to let her go there.

"Surely the hospital should have…"

Jane nods slowly. Even though he stays at that house whenever he isn't in a hotel, at Lisbon's or surreptitiously staying overnight at work, it's been years since he has actually bothered to look through the mail. Most of it lands up being chucked haphazardly into a pile on the kitchen counter, where his precious wife used to leave it whenever he went away for gigs. The letter is probably buried in there somewhere.

He knows that she's hinting that they should go look. And he's not sure about how he feels about her stepping into that little time capsule.

It's not that he's precious about the house, not anymore. It's more that - it's blurring the lines between his old life, the past and the present. He's only just started feeling something that vaguely represents happy - and that's entirely because of the woman sitting beside him - so he doesn't know if he can cope with that mix.

Then again, it doesn't appear like he has much choice. Because he knows what she's thinking. He's thinking it too, after all.

What if that letter was Red John's discovery that he hadn't finished 'the job' quite as effectively as he first thought?

He whispers it, finally giving her permission to drive to his own personal hellhole.

His two distinctly separate worlds are traveling at a thousand miles an hour. And now they're dead set to collide.

**TBC…**


	4. Denial

**A/N: **Yay, just got home from work. I had this ready this morning, but ran out of time to actually post because of a driving lesson, then work. Who'd have known that grown men would be so camera shy? Anyway...

Thanks go to: Divinia Serit, Jadestar1981, Lara, WildDaisies10, chikka-whaa, Frogster, yaba, lisbon69 and mtm for reviewing Part Three! Yay, I'm so glad and relieved that people like this.

x tromana

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**Part Four - Denial**

It's dark when they pull up on his drive. The stars twinkle down cheekily and the moon casts shadows across the overgrown lawn.

Lisbon sits, gripping the steering wheel with such strength that the whites of her knuckles reflect in the window. Jane's fingers twitch constantly to the door handle, still not ready to bite the bullet and actually open it. In reality, they're simply playing games with one another, seeing who can be the one who dares exit the car and head towards the front door first, not that they realize it yet.

So instead, they wait.

Eventually, it's Lisbon's resolve which crumbles first.

That's unsurprising; it (almost) always is.

As Jane joins her, to finally cease the impatient tapping off her left foot, his legs feel like dead weights. If he didn't know otherwise, he'd swear they weren't part of his body.

When he is finally by her side, he allows her to place a small, chaste kiss on his lips. It's a gentle comfort, but more for her than him. It serves to remind her that he _does_ care about her, regardless of what has happened in his past. In the here and now, he does love her. Or at the very least, she's the most important person in his life at the moment by far.

Her perfume still lingers as she pulls away.

He doesn't know if he finds it comforting or not.

The key seems to have a mind of its own until, eventually, he manages to slip it into the keyhole. The click, click positively echoes in Jane's mind and the door slips open, seemingly allowing clouds of dust to bloom as the house welcomes them in. He knows that there's a broad smile there to welcome them, too. It's in the master bedroom, as it has been for seven years or so.

Jane's in two minds about whether or not he lets her see that, though.

Then again, knowing Lisbon, she's unlikely to give him a choice.

A local newspaper, yellowing due to age, is sprawled on the couch. It's leaves decorate the furniture as cushions normally would in a more feminine, more highly furnished home. As she walks, following him though the house, two steps behind him, Lisbon briefly catches sight of one of the headlines: _**Famous Psychic's Wife and Child Brutally Murdered by Red John**_. She doesn't need to read the article to know what platitudes it states beneath it. Old news, but in reality, it's still happening. However, the general public no longer cared that Jane was still mourning.

Yesterday's news still has repercussions - it always does. She's always been aware of that; she has to be in her job. Revenge, abuse, even looking at somebody the wrong way can cause people to do terrible deeds. It's not something that can be brushed under the carpet, but people habitually do. Why think about death and destruction and how people will react to it daily when it is far, far easier to ignore it?

He gets more and more panicked as he sorts through the pile of letters, searching out for the familiar stamp of the hospital desperately. When he cannot place it, cannot grip hold of it with firm fingers, he wheels around and stares at Lisbon with wild eyes. She's rarely scared of him, but it's times like this, times when he looks like he's standing on a cliff's edge and ready to jump, that she is.

Question was, _if_ he jumped, would he pull her down too, like a dead weight?

Or would she be able to pull him back from the brink just in time?

"It's not here, it's not here."

"Maybe…"

"Maybe it's not true, maybe they were lying?"

"You saw their copy of the letter, just before we went outside, remember?"

"I won't believe it, I _can't_. Not until I see my own copy."

"It's been a long time." Her voice is barely a murmur as she scratches at his surface, begging him to see reason. "Two years of mail, at least. It could be anywhere."

She sighs, an involuntary reaction, as he pushes past her. Lisbon can see that his eyes are filled to bursting with tears that are ready to fall, simply needing is one last push to break the dam. It's obvious that it's going to come soon; the tears are just waiting for the right moment. Tentatively, she follows in his footsteps, like a lion cub following its mother. Far enough back not to get into trouble, but close enough not to lose him. She's just relieved when he doesn't turn round, snarling and tells her to stay put.

There's a step that always creaks in the staircase. Jane shudders as his foot comes into contact with it. Not because he dislikes the sound of creaking floorboards, they don't bother him particularly. No, because his every action feels exactly the same as the last time he came home to a 'gift' from Red John.

Leaving the girlfriend at the front door.

(This time, she is following nervously behind.)

Rifling through the mail to see if there's anything interesting.

(Trying to find out if his daughter was actually _his_.)

Pushing that damn tricycle out of the way.

(Shoving poor Lisbon aside. She didn't deserve this kind of treatment.)

The ominous silence as he climbed upstairs.

(The same floorboard creaked, as usual.)

He wasn't a nice man, back then.

He still isn't now.

Jane almost isn't surprised when he sees an envelope stuck to the door of the master bedroom. Nervously, he pulls it off, not really wanting to see the contents. His name, this address, typed neatly in Times New Roman. The hospital stamp in the right hand corner. As Lisbon's slender fingers tighten around his shoulder, he flips it over, his breath hitching.

Neither of them are surprised to see that the envelope has already been opened once The paper has the slightly warped effect of something that has been held over the steam from a kettle, allowing it to be opened without any hassle or mess. With a shaking finger, he eases it open for a second time, finding it a blessed relief that Lisbon is by his side.

One side, the hospital letter, confirming the facts. There was a mix up at birth.

The other, three words.

_**Finishing the job.**_

And a red smile drawn with a sharpie.

**TBC…**


	5. Strength

**A/N: **Ugh, I hate it when mother gets in moods like this. Acting as if she's the only one who works hard and has stuff to do. Grrr!

Anyway, I'm going to cut to the chase otherwise I'll just keep whinging. Thank you to: yaba, cureless, Frogster, Divinia Serit, Ebony10, Habeous Corpus, WildDaisies10, Fallen Angels of Love, celticgina and Jadestar1981 for reviewing part four.

Now I'm going to get a start on a Secret Santa thing. Yay I have so much to write right now...

x tromana

* * *

**Part Five - Strength**

It's Lisbon's fingers that find their way to the door handle first. Looking at him, she immediately notes the withdrawn expression. She's losing him and fast. Briefly, she finds herself wondering if this is how medical professionals feel when a patient flat lines and they have just a matter of minutes to try and resuscitate them.

"D'you want to go downstairs?"

Her voice cracks as she asks the question but she's not surprised when Jane shakes his head. Nor is she surprised when a tear finally breaks through his barrier and falls onto his cheek, leaving a salty, wet streak behind it.

Taking a deep breath, she allows her fingers to tighten and with a flick of the wrist, the door opens by just a crack. She steps around Jane, who appears to be frozen to the spot and somehow manages to edge herself into the room before him.

Normally, the first thing that can be seen in any Red John crime scene is the smile on the wall. Unusually in this case, there are two. A second one has been painted in blood to match the first, some sick way of providing the original with companionship. In this case, however, Lisbon's eyes were drawn to the windowsill.

A candle is sitting there. It has obviously only just burned out - some of the wax that had pooled on the plate was still molten. She shudders, it reminding her briefly of a hymn she'd loved as a kid. There was a difference between lighting a candle to 'let the night know that you care' and doing so to mock those who are religious though.

If she had doubted it before, she is certain now. Red John knows about them. Together, as a couple. Rather than as individuals, as work colleagues. As friends even. They have to tread carefully now. She's always known that she, along with the rest of the team, are all potential targets for the serial killer. The fact that he's managed to destroy a whole team under their noses has illustrated as much. And that is part of the reason that Red John bothered to kill Bosco at all - to prove a point to them as well as draw Jane directly back into the cat and mouse game.

Now, it is one of those rare occasions when she wishes that she has someone to cling onto, to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be okay. Lisbon is growing sick of being the 'strong one' all the while. It does nothing for her already very frayed nerves. But there isn't exactly anything she could do about it though.

She could feel the bile rise in her throat, the hydrochloric acid burning at the cells in her esophagus. That's before she even dares let her eyes trace to the ground to take in the view of Jane's biological daughter. Before she even has a chance to do that, Jane pushes her aside and crouches beside the girl.

"Don't touch her!"

Lisbon automatically switches into 'agent' mode and knows exactly what to do. Before Jane even knows what has hit him, she has him pinned against the wall, her eyes flaring angrily. He struggles, trying to get past her, to try to touch his baby. The woman holding him back is strong though and he's always known that. And to be fair, he has been fitter and is somewhat out of shape now. In the past, he had to be, to look respectable for his adoring public.

"Teresa…"

His voice is low and menacing but she doesn't pay any attention to it. Instead, Lisbon simply puts all her efforts into hauling him back out of the bedroom and carefully guiding him downstairs. She swallows down her emotions yet again as she darts around the girl, trying not to her let her eyes travel to her chest and leg, both of which have been hacked viciously at. Once the body is out of sight, seemingly it is also out of Jane's mind, but Lisbon doubts it is as simple as that. Perhaps it is more of a case of everything slowly overwhelming his senses?

Her fingers dart across her cell phone with practiced ease, typing in a number she is familiar with. As it rings back at her, her eyes remain focused on Jane's face, trying desperately to read the emotions that he is going through but not getting anywhere. If only they could switch positions, just for five minutes. Jane finds it far to easy to read her and sometimes she wishes that he'd just stop and give her a break. Now, she finds herself coveting those skills just so she can help him. At least he isn't running back upstairs though and seems to have got the message about not compromising evidence.

"Cho?"

She's relieved when she hears his calm voice. Immediately, she tells him to organize the rest of the team and get them over to the house as soon as possible. To bring the coroner too, to deal with the body. She may be Jane's daughter, but she's still a murder victim. Another to add to the growing list of victims of Red John. Two children have been killed by him now and that sickens her to her stomach. Still, as soon as Cho and the team have arrived, she knows she'll feel more secure in what she's meant to be doing now.

With a sigh, she sits beside him and he barely notices.

"Are you okay?" she pauses when he doesn't answer. "Patrick… Jane… Patrick!"

She switches between first name and surname like a tennis player switches between back and forehand strokes. All she is doing is trying desperately to break him out of his reverie though and nothing she does seems to be effective. Right now, Lisbon cannot decide if she is his boss, the senior agent trying to solve the crime or Teresa. Teresa, his friend, his lover, the one that is anchoring him to the land of the living. The glue that is holding his fragile pieces together. _This_ is the reason why dating is forbidden within units in the CBI. These two roles simply do not correlate; she is aching to be one or the other, just to clarify her mind, but has to be both.

For both their sakes.

**TBC…**


	6. State of Play

**A/N: **Grr! I couldn't go to work today because they left early and didn't tell me. Argh. Oh well... I've got a tiny thing I can do now, which takes an hour or so... so yes, I've put it off slightly to update this first. YAY.

Thanks to: Divinia Serit, MentalistLover, UnbreakBroken, mtm, lisbon69, Ebony10, Jadestar1981, yaba, lil smiles, HOUSEMDFanForever, macisgate, Frogster and cureless for reviewing part five. It's wonderful to get feedback from you all.

x tromana

* * *

**Part Six - State of Play**

She rose a hand briefly, contemplating slapping him to try and break his trance-like state. Instead, she finds herself distracted by an incessant knocking at the front door. Without bothering to ask Jane if he wanted to get it, she rises to her feet and answers it herself. Lisbon slowly allows the breath she's been holding out and the tension, a tight knot buried deep inside her chest, loosens somewhat as the door swings open, revealing her team.

Their presence simply helps her to know where she stands. It's time to do her job instead of worrying quite so much about Jane.

Quietly, they filter in one by one and Lisbon immediately sends Van Pelt to sit with Jane. He's still catatonic and the red head already vaguely knows the status quo whereas the two men are still pretty much oblivious. Wordlessly, she invites them upstairs and along with the coroner, invites them into Jane's master bedroom.

"That's Jane's daughter," she states without explanation.

"But Jane's daughter is dead. She died seven years ago."

It's Rigsby who points out the obvious, just as she expects him to. Normally, in this kind of situation, Lisbon would sigh and roll her eyes, but in reality the situation is bemusing. She's still trying to get her head around it herself, after all so she finds it easy to forgive Rigsby's utter confusion. A few extra words and they're all nodding, understanding and slightly horrified at the situation.

In fact, they're lost for words, something which makes Lisbon feel a little uncomfortable.

She just wants them to do their jobs too. She _needs_ them to do so.

It's Cho who breaks out of his reverie and acts with some semblance of normality first, scanning the scene eagerly, trying to see if Red John has left any clue. If for once, he's made a simple mistake that completely changes the state of play. They know it's all in vain really as realistically, the notorious murderer hasn't made a mistake since his 'early' days.

Though, in saying that, his murders are becoming more and more elaborate each and every time he makes an appearance. And cockiness can lead to arrogance and arrogance can lead to oversights, which can subsequently lead to mistakes. Red John, though he has a terrifying stranglehold on California, is still only human, regardless of what he sees himself as now. Even he cannot be above human error all the time, can he?

Lisbon jumps as the door swings open, crashing loudly against the wall it is adjoined to. Spinning around, she spots Jane by the door, arms folded and absolutely fuming. Van Pelt is hot on his heels, looking meek, nervous and ever so slightly embarrassed. The brunette doesn't know whether or not to be relieved that Jane seems to have come to his senses or terrified by the steely glares he is shooting to everyone in the room.

"What are you doing in here?"

His voice is a low rumbling growl and Lisbon flinches as if he had just slapped her around the face instead. She shakes her head, knowing full well that she is being ridiculously oversensitive and she needs to stop acting like this if she wants to get her job done. All that she wants is to go back to that semblance of normality that they were happily existing in two days ago rather than being torn between being scared of offending him and desperate to offer him comfort which he'd no doubt refuse.

Knowing Jane though, he probably just sees all this as being punishment for whatever sins he's done in the past.

For his actions now, even.

She knows that he cheated on his wife. Jane mentioned it once in passing, just dropped it into conversation as if he had been telling her what he fancied for lunch instead. That was a revelation she had never expected but it did go some way to explaining why he could be so hot and cold in whatever it was they had. One minute he could be the warm, sensuous lover and the next having her wondering what, if anything, she had done wrong. Because he wasn't faithful back then, he obviously still feels guilty about it now and now, Lisbon is the one who has to bear the brunt of his own shortcomings.

The team all slowly stop what they're doing to stare and it's only then that she remembers they have an audience. And that they, too, are more than aware of the tension running between Jane and herself.

Unlike Jane, Lisbon isn't ashamed of the relationship. She isn't breaking the rules. Bending them, perhaps, but definitely not breaking them. She's checked, countless times, just to make sure.

But that doesn't mean she's told the team yet. That may have something to do with the fact that, deep down in the pit of her stomach, she's always been fairly certain that this relationship has been doomed from the start. Whether it breaks off almost imminently, cleanly, sharply and before she falls too far or messily, leaving both of them as empty shells, completely wrecked by trying to do this at all, is something she's not sure of. All she knows is that she's guaranteed heartache, where Jane is not so much.

"Doing our job," she eventually hisses in response to his question.

Lisbon knows they've broken into his 'safe' haven, his inner sanctum. But a girl has been murdered simply because of her genes. She never knew her biological father, even if he is reeling at the blow of her death and taking it out on those who care about him. Part of her wants to take Jane by the shoulders and shake him until he regains his senses. This girl wasn't his daughter, not emotionally speaking. His real daughter has already been buried, along with his wife. Yes, he shares genetic material with the young lady lying on the floor, but little else.

"What was that?"

It's Rigsby's voice which cuts through the tension like a carving knife, bringing everyone back to focus on the here and now rather than past, present, future and whatever the hell is going on between Jane and Lisbon. There's another crash, coming from downstairs and Van Pelt is first out of the door.

An explosion echoes around the house, a cacophony of sound.

Coughing, holding a hand in front of her face, Van Pelt crawls back into the room, pillows of smoke surrounding her.

An arsonist of some variety has struck.

And they're trapped.

**TBC…**


	7. Drowning

**A/N: ***sniffles* I'm full of cold, boo. And very excited because the volunteering thing I want to do is getting ever closer. I have another course on it tomorrow - hooray!

Anyway, I'm not going to ramble too much - I should be getting on with other things. So, thanks go to: Divinia Serit, lisbon69, Ebony10, UnbreakBroken, mtm, MentalistLover, Frogster, yaba, Jadestar1981, ghostbeach, AlisonJane and bluedragon1836 for reviewing part six. Especially to those who have left anonymous reviews who I can't thank in review reply. The feedback is much appreciated. It honestly makes my day!

x tromana

* * *

**Part Seven - Drowning**

Lisbon once heard that dying of smoke inhalation is similar to drowning.

She's always been scared of drowning, ever since that time when one of her younger brothers had pushed her off a boat while playing on boating lake when she was seven. She'd spent five minutes flailing desperately, nearly going under several times, until eventually, a life guard had managed to haul her out, dripping wet. It was years until she'd managed to rebuild the confidence to go within ten meters of open expanses of water, never mind setting foot on a boat itself.

The idea of being engulfed in noxious fumes is little better than the concept being enveloped by murky waters.

Unfortunately, dying in a fire is looking quite realistic at the moment.

Unashamedly, she clings to Jane as Rigsby tears around the room, pulling down the scant soft furnishings and stripping out of his jacket. He instructs the others to do the same and dumbfounded, they all comply almost instantaneously. They trust him; he's an expert when it comes to this kind of thing and he knows exactly what he's doing. Despite all that, his carefully constructed blockage in front of the bedroom door is unlikely to hold out the smoke and flames for long, but it does buy them time.

Time for the fire service which Cho is urgently calling for to arrive and hopefully rescue them from this burning mass of bricks and mortar.

Though Jane's grief is obviously immense, it doesn't mean that he's completely unaware of the emotions running through others. As Lisbon buries her head into his chest, he places a quick kiss on the crown of her head, running his fingertips up and down her spine in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. Neither notice that Van Pelt is growing faint nor that Cho has positioned himself by the open window in the hope that fresh air will help him recover his senses.

Though accustomed to the flash of blue lights and the blaring sound of a siren, the one that is approaching has never felt more soothing or welcoming to all six occupants in the house.

Everything happens in such a blur that she still can't believe that she's actually safe and in one piece. And the solid ground beneath Lisbon's feet feels more reassuring than ever.

A paramedic fusses over her, tries to get her to sit down, do some breathing exercises and for her own health at the very least, please just take some oxygen for five minutes or so, will you?

Though she's still shaking violently, she has more important things to do. And at least Cho and Van Pelt, accompanied by Rigsby, are on their way to hospital now. They should be back on their feet within a couple of days, fingers crossed. And the coroner has already been picked up by her petrified boyfriend, heading home to calm down, no doubt.

It's a miracle that they've all got out of this relatively unscathed.

Right now, she doesn't care about all the evidence that is being destroyed before her very eyes. The fact that the people she cares about are safe is what matters.

What worries her though is that this is such a direct attack on her entire team - and that it has happened so soon after Bosco's passing.

Red John seems to be entering a similar kind of crazed frenzy as Jane himself. And that scares her no end.

The house is still encased in a golden glow and surrounded by smoke as the firemen desperately try and douse the fire. Jane watches, positively hypnotized by the crackle and hiss as one of the last links to his old life, before Red John, is being reduced to rubble.

When she's certain that there isn't anything else she can do and that the paramedics have gone and therefore, will stop pestering her, Lisbon sits beside Jane in silence. To be fair, she's simply at a loss as to what to say so has partially been avoiding the imminent confrontation.

She appreciated the comfort he had shown her a few hours beforehand; she'd never admitted to her terror of drowning or fires before and was relieved that he had managed to pick up on that despite everything that had happened of late. But now, as he watches the men at work, trying to salvage what they can, he seems to have slipped back into that unresponsive state and she just wishes that she can help.

He's drowning in emotions she doesn't understand. Ones that she doesn't _want_ to understand.

What she _does_ want is to pull him back to safety. Before it's too late.

Something's telling her that that is getting harder by the second. There's no sticking plaster big enough to cover up this kind of hurt, is there?

"Patrick?"

Lisbon's voice is tentative and she can't remember when she last sounded so nervous when speaking to him.

"_Patrick."_

She's desperate for a response and is thrilled when he pulls his eyes from the sight before him to glare at her, if only for a second. It's a response. It's better than nothing.

"It's getting cold," she mutters, having nothing else to say. "Shall we head back to mine?"

Jane's shivering and Lisbon is certain that he doesn't really know, never mind have the ability to care about it. She's exhausted. She just wants to get home, have a hot shower and crawl into bed but only so long as she knows that he's going to still be around in the morning. If the past couple of days have reminded her of anything, it's that there's no guarantees in life. It's a lesson she learned young and one which she didn't really want a refresher course in.

He shakes his head and his gaze falls back onto the burning pile of bricks and mortar.

"You'll get sick."

He shrugs his shoulders. She feels like she's trying to draw blood out of a stone.

"We need to get some rest," she tries.

Maybe trying to get blood out of a stone would be easier than trying to get a response out of Jane?

"It's just a house…"

"It's the most important thing in my life right now."

"What? How can you say that? I have two agents in hospital suffering from smoke inhalation. Two!" she retorts, irate. "And you're worried about your house? Houses don't last forever."

"Neither do people."

"And what about me, Patrick? Just what am I to you right now?"

**TBC...**


	8. The Eye of the Storm

**A/N:** Firstly, there's mature content in this, though nothing graphic.

Secondly, I'm sorry for the delay in updating this. I got very caught up with Secret Santa stuff last week and just didn't have time to get this up sooner. I'm hoping that I'll be able to be more on top of updating this, _Unbound_ and _Addiction_ now.

Thirdly: thanks to: Ebony10, 0meltingsnow0, WildDaisies10, yaba, MentalistLover, bluedragon1836, Divinia Serit, Group Hugs For Everyone, Frogster, Jadestar1981 and Kink Fluff Angst for reviewing part seven. So glad you're still enjoying it!

And twin -- I can get back to writing your Christmas present again! YAY. So exciting.

x tromana

* * *

**Part Eight - The Eye of the Storm**

He peels off her jacket, which has the scent of smoke hanging on its every fiber, painfully slowly. It's a relief to have it off her shoulders; smelling of a bonfire reminds her of just how close she came to losing her life today. Casually, Jane tosses it onto the desk while Lisbon perches carefully on the double bed. She pretends not to notice when he tugs off his shoes and socks and they collide roughly with the door.

The hotel bed is hard and unforgiving and part of her aches for the softer, more comfortable one sitting empty at her home.

But she knows this works better, for the both of them.

A hotel room is devoid of personality, hers more specifically. Although her modest apartment is the home that he has felt most comfortable in during recent months, it's never been somewhere he has really belonged. She tries her best to make him feel like he can feel at ease there, but it's never going to work. Jane still feels like an invasive species, foreign material, unwelcome.

She may have let him into her heart, but that's not something that he can reciprocate in its entirety.

Maybe, if Red John had been dealt with, whatever the conclusion to that may be, things would be different…

Jane approaches her, with a predatory look in his eyes. She flinches as she comes under his gaze, feeling rather like a piece of meat being drooled over by a particularly hungry dog. His eyes are heavy with lust and desire and Lisbon hadn't quite expected that, even though he had brought her to a hotel rather than home. But just because he can't _love_ her like she loves him, doesn't mean he doesn't _need_ her.

Despite his fierce gaze, his hands are a contradiction, soft and caring, as he cups her face and litters her with delicate kisses, paying particular attention to her throat and nose. Lisbon doesn't dare touch him, she doesn't want to lead him on, to force him to do something he doesn't want to do.

Her lack of involvement doesn't seem to put him off, at first.

She winces as he roughly pulls the elastic band out, along with several of her hairs that had gotten caught, loosening her ponytail and allowing her hair to cascade around her face and down her back.

Shivers under his touch as he takes off layer by layer of clothing, relishing in it. Taking his time like she's some kind of particularly precious present, which he isn't quite ready to unveil yet. Jane continues to press his lips tenderly against each and every piece of skin he exposes, focusing his attention fully on her, if only to stop his mind from whirring at a thousand miles an hour.

When she's finally in a state of undress, laying on the bed with her chest heaving at his tantalizing teasing, he's still fully clothed, observing her as if she was some kind of prize.

"_Please."_

Her voice is barely a whimper. She had promised herself that she wouldn't beg him, let him make all the decisions without any input of her own. But she feels isolated, alone. Like she's been placed on a pedestal, merely to be observed and admired. Like she isn't actually part of the world, _his _world any more. It makes her feel like she's made of glass. But she's fairly certain that she's not as fragile as he appears to be treating her as.

The sound of her voice is enough to remind him what he's actually doing, to bring him back into the land of the living so to speak.

In what feels like forever, yet at the same time, no time at all, he has stripped and joined her on the unforgiving mattress. Jane indulges himself with yet more lazy touches, frowning somewhat at her unresponsiveness, her self-restraint. He knows why she's doing it, but he can't help but wish that she would reciprocate his touch, just to make sure that he feels less like he's using her.

Because he's not.

And if she wants him to stop, he'd stop in an instant.

It's his turn to beg, now and tentatively, her hand reaches out, like a lighthouse on the cliffs, guiding him to safety. He relaxes in an instant and it isn't long until they both know where they stand, as it were.

As he thrusts into her and her muscles are working in overdrive, she can't help but wonder if this frenzy they've worked themselves into is merely the eye of the storm. Different kinds of emotions are coursing through her veins right now, more pleasurable than the past twenty-four hours, but even they cannot eclipse recent events.

Sex, after all, rarely solves anything. If anything, it's more likely to make things more complicated.

It certainly makes letting go all the more difficult.

Eventually, he lays spent, beside her and curls up beside her, arms wrapped possessively around her waist. She glances at his face, taking in his features. He doesn't quite have that famous post-coital glow, but he certainly more relaxed than he has done for a while. She's not sure whether or not to classify that as a job well done or to worry about what the future holds.

Maybe both.

As the moonlight casts shadows through the gap in curtain, Lisbon lays quietly, with Jane's head nestled in the crook of her neck. His hot breath tickles her exposed skin and it takes all her self-control not to shudder in response. Despite the fact that he was settled and seemingly at peace, she couldn't rest herself.

She's just realized that she never received an answer to her question.

**TBC…**


	9. Deserving

**A/N: **Argh, I hate it when FFN decides it's going to play up. I was going to update both this and _The Art of Seduction_ yesterday. Anyway, enough about website technicality woes.

For those who read it, I'm back to writing _Unbound_. In fact, a chapter is with my beta now. Yay. Hoping to get another one done this week too.

Thank you to: Divinia Serit, Penelope Louise, Jadestar1981, 0meltingsnow0, yaba, mtm and Group Hugs For Everyone for reviewing part eight. I don't think there's much more to go now. I think I have two parts left...

Thanks for sticking with me throughout this one.

x tromana

* * *

**Part Nine - Deserving**

She feels somewhat embarrassed as she redresses in the half-light. Jane is in that relaxing state between sleep and wakefulness, but she still finds herself hiding away as much as possible. It's ridiculous; it's not as if he hasn't seen her naked before. But still, Lisbon figures that it's something to do with the combination of sordid hotel, having to wear the same smoky clothing as yesterday and the simple fact he is currently emotionally repressed.

Well, even more so than usual.

Jane mumbles something incoherently and she freezes.

Perhaps, when he's awake, she'll ask if they can drop by her apartment before work. Just so she can grab a change of clothes and maybe a bite to eat.

Absent-mindedly checking her cell phone and she finds that she's received several calls from the interim boss. The last voice message states that she should take leave, if only for a couple of days, so that she can soothe her frazzled nerves and regain perspective. It may be a Red John case, but they appear as far away from catching him as ever and apparently, her and Jane's health is of the utmost importance.

Well, screw that.

The interim boss is about as useful as a chocolate fireguard as it is.

Gathering up the horrible smelling jacket, she wraps it around her slender body before placing a gentle hand on Jane's bare shoulder.

He jolts to her touch, her cool fingertips grazing against his skin. As Jane blinks up at her, she pulls away, as if he has passed on an electric shock.

She looks nervous.

And seeing _his_ Lisbon look so nervous makes Jane feel nervous too.

After all, she is the one solid thing remaining in his life. Like a great oak tree, stoic and proud. Changing as the seasons pass, but still strong and imposing regardless of the time of year or her scenery.

When they reach her home, she has time to change, but not for food. But then again, that's rather unsurprising. Whenever you wish you had the time to just take a step back and _breathe_ for five minutes, it always seems to march on faster. Like sand trickling through a timer and all you can do is sit and watch.

The new, albeit temporary, boss is angry, no, furious when he sees Lisbon storming to her office, to pick up some notes before they head out again. She wants to go talk to the 'parents' of the child, tell them that they'd found the body, even though they cannot be sure if it can be salvaged from the wreckage that is Jane's house. The irate man wants her to go home and take that 'psycho of a consultant' with her.

She nods and smiles and appears to acquiesce to his demands. She's learned a lot from Jane and not all of it good.

Once in her car, she smiles weakly at Jane and they head directly towards the family's home. Lisbon has been dreading this. Just how do you explain to somebody that their daughter's body was found at the home of her biological father? And oh yes, said home was practically burned to the ground, probably by the serial killer who killed her, while the entire team investigating the death of their daughter were inside.

The situation is bemusing, verging on the absurd.

Still, at least Van Pelt and Cho should be okay. Lisbon appreciates that Rigsby took the time out from his vigil beside the red head to let her know. As she approaches the modest home for a second time, she feels like she's earned that one slither of hope.

Jane's dour as he approaches the house with trepidation. It's unsurprising; he feels as though this family intentionally held his daughter away from him. Even if she wasn't dead, time lost can never be regained. But the fact of the matter is that she is, so that exacerbates the loss further still. Lisbon's fingers entwine around his own and she gives him an affectionate squeeze.

It's the most she can do, given the situation.

As with before, the family is understanding, sympathetic. Almost _too _understanding and sympathetic. It seems like they, too, have switched off their emotions in order to cope and Lisbon doesn't like it much.

"Who else did you tell that Harriet wasn't your biological daughter?"

She's abrupt, but she needs to know. Lisbon needs to find the connection to Red John and unless they persuade her otherwise, this couple are her prime suspects.

The man remembers one night. Well, it's more of a case of what he _doesn't_ remember; a drug-induced haze akin to that night that Lisbon suffered due to Dr. Roy Carmen. Lisbon is sympathetic; she understands what it's like to feel like you have completely lost a period of your life. She knows how it feels when hours have been stolen away from you, almost literally. After all, she still doesn't remember that night, all those months ago and it still irks her somewhat.

Jane, however, is unimpressed. Slowly, but surely, he transforms into a menacing force, desperate to extract any information he can from the hapless father. His daughter was in the care of this man, so it's unsurprising that Jane is fuming. Lisbon warns him, verbally and he turns on her.

Stumbling slightly, she finds herself slowly backing away until her back is flush against a wall, with his hands gripping her shoulders tightly. If it hadn't been for her several layers of clothing, she knows that Jane's fingernails would have broken her skin.

Yes, she's seen Jane angry, but never quite like this. It's like he's decided to start blaming her for this whole sorry situation and she can't help but wonder why. It's not as if she mixed the two girls up at birth, nor was she responsible for supplying Red John with the information.

She is, however, responsible for telling to Jane to remember his tact.

And hissing to him that, regardless of the genetic connotations, the girl in question isn't his daughter. His daughter is dead and buried and has been for seven years.

She flinches as a hand strikes her left cheek, leaving a sore red mark in its wake.

Lisbon isn't quite sure what to do as he lets go of her and collapses to his knees. All she knows is that they can't go on like this, using and abusing one another.

And she deserves better than this.

**TBC…**


	10. Destruction

**A/N: ***yawns* I'm sleepy... and this is the penultimate chapter. Putting this up now at request of WildDaisies10 and who am I to say no?!

Thanks to: mtm, yaba, 0meltingsnow0, Divinia Serit, WildDaisies10, Ebony10, ch19777 and Frogster for revealing chapter nine. Especially so to ch19777 for going back and commenting on every part. Thank you!

x tromana

* * *

**Part Ten - Destruction**

She still can't believe that he had had the audacity to strike her. It's just so unlike Jane. If he is angry, he'd usually use wordplay, subterfuge. He is more likely to hand you a piece of rope and make sure that you tie yourself up with it than to use violence in any way, shape or form.

Lisbon has always light-heartedly joked that he was the brain and she was the brawn, even though she is far sharper than she gives herself credit for in doing that.

And obviously, given the blues and purples now decorating her cheekbone, he's far stronger than she thought he was too.

After she had had her say, Jane fled and the look he had given her broke Lisbon's heart. But it's the right decision, for the both of them. She cannot continue to put her heart on the line and compete for his affections with people long dead. It's a war she'll never win, because she isn't as tall, willowy, tanned or blonde as the woman who won his heart so long ago. Not that she'd want to replace her, mind. That was never her intention.

She has no idea where he is now, but she's standing in the family's restroom, inspecting the damage in a mirror. It's going to take a hell of a lot of make-up to disguise that bruise. But then again, this isn't the first time Lisbon has had to do that.

She's far more experienced at covering up bruises than she cares to admit, she decides as she clips the make-up bag back shut. Not too bad a job considering it is only the stuff she uses when they are called out of town.

When she's finally built up the courage to leave the room, Lisbon immediately goes and apologizes to the couple. Their show was completely and utterly unprofessional and it embarrasses her no end.

The woman simply envelopes her in her arms and Lisbon freezes. She didn't expect this kind of a reaction.

"You're better off without him, love."

But is she though? And how can this woman, who she has only been talking to for a couple of days even have the right to judge whether or not that she made the correct decision when ending her 'romantic' relationship with Jane? Ever since she got back home from Chicago, from the funeral, it feels like the life she has become accustomed to has started falling to pieces in her hands.

Just like her Mom's china doll which she accidentally smashed when she was seven years old.

She feels a little lost when she arrives back at work and walks up to the third floor of CBI headquarters, using the stairs instead of the elevator, for a change. Jane isn't there beside her, actively breaking the rules that she set out when they started their little affair. It's even more disconcerting when she doesn't see him lazing on the couch as she expected him to be once she'd arrived back.

Said couch is, after all, the place where the blond does most of his thinking.

Even though it's bare and she can't help but worry, she immediately heads towards her office instead of making plans to find him. The silence of the bullpen is almost deafening, in its own way. She hadn't realized just how much noise four people could make and though there are still a few secretaries, cleaners and even a few members of other units around, she has grown used to picking out the voices of those she works with most closely.

As Lisbon leans over her desk, looking at some random form, her eyes glaze over and the words slowly merge into one. She blinks slowly, trying desperately to refocus.

It's unsurprising that she's struggling with her paperwork; it has been a long week.

Her hair still stinks of smoke. Lisbon only realizes now, as it tries to form a mask over her face, getting in the way of the one word she is reading over and over. Destruction.

How terribly apt.

She can't help but think that her life is destroyed, her team too.

After all, after this, how can she even consider the concept that Jane might want to work under her again? And the fire might even be enough to scare Van Pelt off for good, too.

Lisbon doesn't even want to imagine what he's thinking right now.

In just a couple of days, he's lost his daughter (for a second time).

His home.

His self-control.

_Her._

There's only so much one man can take.

She shakes her head. Maybe the interim boss is right? Perhaps if she just took the afternoon off, she'll be able to regain her senses. Have a nice, long bath, a night in with Dorothy and Toto and allow herself to be absorbed into the world of Oz.

It shouldn't take her much longer than let to get back to normal. To find the cool, competent senior agent that she was. Is, even.

Lisbon knows it's unhealthy to hold so much stead by her job, but it does define who she. She's been told it isn't good for her to hide behind her badge and gun, to use them as shields, but right now, she doesn't care.

She wants that protective layer back because now that she's lost Jane, emotionally speaking, because it's all she has again.

When she gets home, she dumps the keys on the table as per usual and pretends the fact that there are no footsteps following her in doesn't bother her. All she wants a cup of tea, for that mix of antioxidants and caffeine works wonders on soothing her rattled nerves. But tea reminds Lisbon of him and right now, she doesn't want to think about him. Even if that is his jacket, slung carelessly over the arm of her couch and those are his sunglasses perched on the counter.

Lisbon swallows deeply. No respite, even in her own home.

She's exhausted though and she doesn't even make it to the bath, never mind her bed.

In frustration, she growls when her cell phone starts ringing. She had been hoping that that would be a cliché that it would avoid falling into, just this once. Lisbon has lost count of the number of times that she has drifted off, only to be woken by an incessant ringing. Still, she answers it anyway, hoping that it isn't anything important.

That she can just give the person on the other end of the call short shrift so she can get back to dozing.

"Lisbon," she growls automatically. It's her normal answer regardless of the caller.

"Jane's on Tower Bridge," Rigsby states quickly, sounding almost breathless. "And it looks like he's going to jump."

**TBC…**


	11. Entropy

**A/N: **First things first, I would like to apologise for any myocardial infarctions I may or may not have been responsible for at the end of part ten.

Thanks to: WildDaisies10, Jadestar1981, lgmtreader, yaba, Ebony10, ch19777, mtm, Divinia Serit, 0meltingsnow0, Frogster and HOUSEMDFanForever for reviewing part ten.

So, here's the final part. I'm er... going to hide over there now. *ducks*

x tromana

* * *

**Part Eleven - Entropy**

It's the smell that hits her first, that overly clean stench of a building which uses far too much disinfectant. It smells as if the whole place has been dunked into some enormous bucket of the stuff and left to soak for twenty four hours, at the very least.

Lisbon takes a deep breath and pushes the swinging door open, entering with some level of trepidation.

She always feels more than a little nervous whenever she's in this place.

Her heels click against the parquet floor, like sharp, staccato points digging into her subconscious. She's relieved when it stops, if only for a second, so she can shake the medic's hand. The man greets her in the same place, at the same time, once a fortnight. This has become part of her routine now.

Despite the fact that she knows it's for the best, she still feels terribly guilty for shutting him up in here.

After all, one of the things they've both always shared is that mutual loathing of hospitals and medical institutions in general.

"How is he?"

She tries to sound as nonchalant as possible as she brings up his condition with the doctor. But she wants, needs, to know if there's been any change, good or bad, before she actually sees him.

"I'm sorry, but there's been no change, Mrs. Jane."

Twisting her mother's wedding band around her ring finger, she nods sadly. She's had to lie to be able to see him regularly. Simply saying that she's a friend, his boss, even attempting to use her badge and stating that he was central to some investigation of theirs would have never been enough to grant access to his secure rooms at this rather posh mental institution. So she bends the truth, quite significantly, just so she can get updates on his condition. For her sanity as well as the rest of the team's.

Van Pelt, Rigsby and Cho would hate not knowing almost as much as she would. Despite everything that happened, they were still holding it together by a shoestring, but only just.

When she sees him, dressed in a traditional hospital gown, legs crossed and staring at a wall with fervor, her breath unexpectedly hitches.

After all, she blames herself for driving him back to the brink of insanity.

If only she'd been more patient, more understanding, more caring. If only she hadn't reacted so violently to such a ridiculous thing as a slap. If only she hadn't been stupid enough to break up with him when so much hysteria was going on around them.

Carefully, she places a hand on the glass window providing a view into his room, a tear finally breaking past her defenses and spilling onto her cheek. The doctor wordlessly passes her a tissue; he's seen this scene play out before him a countless number of times. Lisbon nods in gratitude and whispers her thanks, but doesn't tear her eyes away from the scene playing out before her.

Jane's been given a pencil; it's less dangerous to give him a writing implement than have him spill his own blood to write with. However, it's blunt and barely shows up against the magnolia wall, but that doesn't stop him writing.

Entropy.

Chaos.

Decay.

Entropy.

Chaos.

Entropy.

Entropy.


End file.
